


Breakfast

by greenleaf9



Series: Cobradin Drabbles and One-Shots [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cobb makes breakfast, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, OT3, Other, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenleaf9/pseuds/greenleaf9
Summary: A fluffy one-shot of Cobb making breakfast for Din, Cara and Grogu on the Razor Crest.
Relationships: Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth, Cobradin, Din Djarin/Cara Dune, Din Djarin/Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Series: Cobradin Drabbles and One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090172
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much Lady_Vibeke for beta reading! You are the best!
> 
> I read through one last time for typos, hopefully I caught them all.
> 
> This story is just more fluff from these three, plus Grogu!

_Breakfast_

Cobb was cooking—the fragrant aroma drifted up through the _Razor Crest_ to where Din was getting an early start on repairs. The bounty hunter smiled, recalling Cobb’s horrified expression when the man had learned that Din and Cara mostly subsided on ration bars when not planet-side.

“No wonder the kid is always hungry,” Vanth had grumbled, before promptly reclaiming the _Razor Crest’s_ small galley that Din had been using for storage.

That first night Cobb had cooked for them had been just a simple meal, scrounged from what ingredients he could find on the ship, but _dank ferrik_ , if it hadn’t been one of the best meals of Din’s life, even if he’d retreated up to the cockpit to eat alone as he always did. He’d sat in his chair, staring out at the stars, trying to recall the last time someone had cooked for him. He could hear the distant sounds of Cara and Cobb talking and laughing, and when Cobb shouted up to ask if he needed anything, Cara chiming in, Din unexpectedly felt a fierce ache in his chest. It had been such a long time since he’d shared a meal with someone—most people forgot about him at the table once he’d left the room. He’d quickly cleaned his plate, and pulled back on his helmet, grateful that it would hide his face for the night—he still wasn’t sure what all this meant. But as he rejoined the others in the kitchen, seeing how Cara’s face lit up when she saw him, how Cobb asked if he was still hungry, did he want another plate? The kid, slurping happily away at his bowl—he found himself looking forward to seeing wherever this was going.

That had been so long ago. Cobb had made them many meals since then. It had surprised Din at first that the man was so good at cooking, but he supposed it made sense that the marshal had cooked for himself living in Mos Pelgo. Now Din and Cara got to reap the rewards.

He finished soldering a lose wire, and then set aside his tools as his stomach gave a low rumble. It was time to go hunt down breakfast. Whatever Cobb was making smelled _good_. He made his way through the _Crest_ quickly enough, wiping his hands on a spare rag, but when he reached the galley entrance, he stopped short, and then leaned against the doorway for a second, to fully appreciate the sight.

Cobb was barefoot, standing at the stove, wearing a loosely tucked dark blue shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his tan forearms, and his signature red scarf was draped over his shoulder, acting as an impromptu kitchen towel. He was whistling a cheerful melody as he cracked a porg egg into the skillet. As though sensing Din’s presence, the silver-haired marshal turned round, giving him a smile, “Mornin.’”

“Good morning,” Din said, stepping into the galley, and moving up to wrap his arms around Cobb’s waist as the man turned his attention back to the stove. “Cara still asleep?”

“Naw, I think she’s getting Grogu ready, or possibly plotting the takedown of an Imperial base,” Cobb paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Or both.”

“That was fun taking out that base on Agamar. I had fun.” Din reached forward to grab a spoon for a taste, only for Cobb to swat at him with the spatula.

“No tasting. It’s not ready yet.” Cobb’s tone was stern, but his eyes were smiling.

Din huffed, but gave Cobb’s waist a squeeze, before he moved to the table and sat down. “Fine. View’s better from over here anyway.”

“Flattery will not work on me, but nice try, darlin’.”

Cara chose that moment to walk in, Grogu carried safely in her arms. Her long black hair was down, still tousled from last night, and the child was reaching for it with his little fingers, trying to put it in his mouth.

“Something smells delicious,” she said, setting Grogu down, crossing over to Cobb to give him a good morning kiss on the cheek. She moved over to Din and planted a soft kiss on top of his helmet. “You gonna eat with us today?” she asked.

Din was slowly starting to remove his helmet around them. Ever since he had met Bo-Katan, the Creed, while still a part of him, was something he was learning to define by how _he_ chose to honor it, rather than how others told him he must. He had spent days agonizing over whether the decision to remove his helmet in front of Cara and Cobb was the right thing to do. In the end of course they had sensed his distress. They’d told him they would support his choice, no matter what it was. It was that unconditional acceptance that had finally given him the courage to decide. He found most days he kept the helmet on, but he was becoming more comfortable having it off for things like eating and…well…other activities.

Today, he felt he would probably eat with them. “I think so,” he said to Cara. She gave him her usual blinding smile. Not for the first time, he wondered how he’d stumbled into something so good.

“I’m glad,” she said. “It’s different when you’re in another room.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—for one thing, there’s no one to tell Cobb that there is such a thing as too much garlic.”

“That’s a lie,” Cobb said, “Just for that, I’m adding another clove.”

Cara stepped back towards the stove, reaching for the same spoon that Din had. “Don’t you dare. Let me have a taste.”

Cobb also smacked her hand away, “Nope. It ain’t ready yet.”

Cara huffed, pouting. “One bite? Please? I’ll—” A wicked expression spread across her face and she leaned forward to whisper something in Cobb’s ear. As she did, Din noticed her hand sneaking towards the countertop.

Cobb’s attention was now fully on Cara, and Din thought maybe she had him. “ _That_ is mighty temptin’.”

Cara’s fingers reached the end of the spoon.

But Cobb smacked her hand away again, and grinned at her, “But the answer is still no, sunshine. ‘Sides, I know what you really want.” He reached up and grabbed a chipped mug, filled it with some caf and handed it over to Cara, whose expression had lasered in on it.

She took a deep gulp, “Mmm, god yes.” She gave Cobb another kiss on his cheek, “You’re forgiven.”

Din snorted with laughter, while Cobb grumbled, “I swear feeding you two is like herdin’ banthas.”

Cara sat, taking another sip of caf, before setting the mug down and gathering up her hair into a braid. It was quiet for a minute or so, the only sounds Cobb’s whistling, the kid’s little chirps, and the sizzle of the skillet. Din soaked it in, he wanted this to never end. He could not remember a previous time in his life when he’d felt so at peace.

Grogu toddled over to Cobb, arms outstretched, cooing happily.

“Come ‘ere, you little womp rat.” Cobb scooped up Grogu into his arms, settling him against his hip. He picked up the spoon that both Din and Cara had tried for, and dipped in the skillet, giving Grogu a bite. “Whatdya think?”

Grogu cooed at him.

“You’re right, needs a bit more salt.”

“How come he gets to taste, but we don’t?” Cara complained.

“Because he’s my favorite,” Cobb smirked at her.

Grogu burbled up at him, little claws pulling at his scarf. The kid’s mouth was open, he clearly wanted another bite.

“And because this little fellow is a bottomless pit that will never be filled,” Cobb added, looking down at Grogu with a mock expression of horror.

“Too true,” Din said, remembering fondly the early days of trying to stop the kid from eating things he shouldn’t.

Grogu babbled, ears wiggling.

Cobb’s brown eyes twinkled. “What’s that? More garlic?”

“Don’t you dare,” Cara laughed. “Din back me up!”

Din held up his hands, “I agree—”

“ _Thank_ -you.”

“—with Cobb. No such thing as too much garlic.”

Cara reached out and cuffed the back of his helmet affectionately. “You traitor.”

“The truth hurts.” Din grinned under his helmet.

“Don’t think just because I can’t see your face right now, I don’t know that you’re laughing at me under there,” Cara said, taking another sip of caf.

Cobb moved the skillet off the burner and switched the stove off. “I do believe it’s ready,” he said. He shifted Grogu’s weight on his hip, and then grabbed a stack of bowls, bringing them over to the table.

“Here, I got this,” Cara said. She moved over to the stove, bringing a heat pad and the skillet over, while Cobb handed Grogu over to Din to sit down at the table. All their movements had the comfortable rhythm of family.

As Cara began serving, Din took a breath, and then lifted his helmet, setting it carefully down next to him. Each time he took his helmet off around them it got slightly easier, but he knew he still had a long way to go before he felt entirely comfortable.

“I do love seeing your face,” Cara said, as she handed him a bowl.

Din made a conscious effort not to fiddle with the helmet. He felt exposed, self-conscious—emotions he wasn’t used to dealing with. “Still feels strange.”

“If you want to put your helmet back on, or for us to turn around, just say the word,” Cobb said.

Din thought about it. It was tempting. But he also thought about all those meals he’d eaten alone. No laughter, no swapping stories, no one asking about his day, none of the warmth that came with eating with Cara, Cobb and Grogu. It was hard to take off the helmet, it was hard to let people, even people he cared deeply about, see his face, but more and more he realized this was something he wanted. He did not think it dishonored the Creed to eat with those who he loved and who loved him. This was _his_ way.

He took a breath, and slowly exhaled. “No…it’s strange. But this is something I want too.” He left the helmet where it was.

Cara reached over, taking his hand, and giving it a brief squeeze. “Let’s eat.”

Cobb had made some sort of egg scramble, and it was kreffing delicious. Din ate hesitantly at first, but soon was lost in the delicious flavors.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Cara moaned around her fork. “I don’t know how you do this Cobb.”

“Jus’ lots of practice. I’ve been thinking, next time we hit planet-side I want to get some ingredients for a couple of new dishes I’ve heard ‘bout.”

“Yeah?” Din asked, giving a bite to Grogu who was chirping happily next to him.

“Yeah. Either of you two ever hear of something called _corn_?”

Cara shook her head, Din as well. It sounded kind of suspicious to him.

“Hmm,” Cobb said. He grinned, “Well, I’m curious if it will go well with garlic.”

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help myself with that ending! I've seen memes on tumblr and just had to throw in a reference to corn!
> 
> I've decided to gather all my drabbles and one-shots about this ship into a series. I hope you are having as much fun reading about these three as I am writing about them! ❤


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